


Rewind

by ShatterTheNexus



Category: LOONA (Korea Band)
Genre: Gen, Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 12:03:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21161363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShatterTheNexus/pseuds/ShatterTheNexus
Summary: One. Two. Three. Four.Rewind. Next.





	Rewind

**Author's Note:**

> Sinister x The Ring
> 
> It's not graphic. But it gets a bit dark. If you recognize the movies, you know what imagery you're in for. For those who don't, the brief swearing is (for once) not my biggest concern. However, most is left to interpretation rather than explicit details.

“_Dancin’ in the moonlight. Everybody’s feelin’ warm and bright. It’s such a fine and natural sight._”

“Everybody’s dancin’ in the moonlight.”

Haseul’s clear voice fills the void, wrapping her in a warm pocket of the universe that is the local retro media shop. Her fingers sweep over the alphabetized vinyl records on her way to the cash register. She watches the pouring rain outside, humming until the song fades out. With a heavy sigh, she kicks a box out from under the counter and lifts it onto the chipped glass. Seven items to log into the spreadsheet pulled up on an excessively large desktop. The kind that drones in low, uneven ticks every time a new window opens. Of course the system unit heaves as loud as a bear. Haseul fans away the puffs of dust.

Whoever sold these VHS tapes to the store had great taste. _Gone with the Wind_. A _Looney Tunes_ special collection. _Babe_ in its thick white plastic case. It’s cracked where the cover photo cuts off the pig’s butt. Otherwise it’s unharmed. _The Aristocats_. _The Sword in the Stone_. Haseul traces the spine and smiles to herself. Archimedes was her favorite character growing up. Merlin was Yeojin’s. Haseul thinks it fits too perfectly. She cringes at the stretch of clear masking tape. It’s enough to patch up the ripped paper case of _The Wizard of Oz_ to a presentable state. Last but not least, _E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial._ The keyboard clacks loudly with the last entry. Her boss will appraise their value in the morning.

The box rattles when Haseul chucks it into the recycling pile by the door. Peering down, she spots one last black cassette. No labels, no markings, not a single scratch. Haseul turns on the VCR, pops the tape in, and sets it on rewind at double speed. The whirring competes with the PC. With great caution, Haseul lifts the King Harvest vinyl off of the turntable, gives it a gentle brush, then slides it into the jacket. The VCR clicks, wheezing to a stop. Haseul pats the machine fondly. With a click of the remote and a firm whack to the cubic TV’s backside, a static-ridden picture flashes on the screen. Tilting the foil-tipped antennae clears up the image. Haseul presses play, eyes squinting to make out the dimly lit scene.

There’s no audio. A swing set stands in the center of a grassy park. Haseul thinks it’s peaceful. Then the left-most seat moves of its own volition. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Haseul shuts the TV off. So loud. Her breathing is so damn _loud_. She punches the eject button hard enough that the VCR bangs against the wall. The VHS rattles as Haseul tries to tug it out faster. Without a second glance, she throws it across the store front. It lands in the empty box.

Her calculus homework starts with a formula. It ends with two integrations and a splotch of drool. Haseul snorts herself awake, her head snapping up and her eyes scanning the store for shoplifters. Deserted. She glances at the clock. Half past eight. Her back cracks as she stands to pack up her books. She pulls out an obnoxiously huge metal ring, a collection of every key she’s ever owned jingling against the door frame as she locks up.

“Hope mom left some food in the fridge,” she mumbles.

Her car revs to life and creaks out of the empty lot. There’s a traffic hold-up, extending her fifteen minute commute by another five. Her watch beeps on the hour right as her stomach grumbles. But her appetite’s long gone when she pulls into her driveway.

The flashing red and blue lights blind her. She holds up a hand to shield her eyes and turns towards the door.

“Oh, honey!”

“Mom?” Haseul squeaks. She looks over the shoulder wedged into her neck at the man crossing the lawn. “Dad? W-what’s going on? Why are the police here?”

Neither are in any state to speak. They grasp onto Haseul tighter as if she’d dissipate into smoke. Haseul realizes with a start that tears flow freely down her face too. Her heart shrivels up instinctively. Her chest tightens to force the words out.

“Where… Where’s Yeojin?”

~|~|~|~

_Flash_.

Haseul hiccups.

_Flash. Flash. Flash._

She flinches. There are too many cameras. Too many crews with floodlights and boom mics. Too many reporters with questions. There’s not enough air. No room to breathe even though the prying mass stands all the way by the edge of their lawn, the closest legal distance the police will allow from their front porch.

_Flash. Flash. Flash._

The only sound louder than the clicks is her parents’ rasping inhales between sharing an identifying profile of Yeojin and heartbreaking compliments of the past decade spent together. Haseul has to turn away, wipe the snot running over her lip with her sleeve.

She remembers scolding Yeojin for doing the same her first day at the house. And then she spent the next hour holding tissues up to the little girl’s nose, asking her to blow gently, and rocking her to sleep. How anyone could leave this angel on earth to fend for herself was inconceivable. Then again, Haseul’s uncle had always been a deadbeat. And from then on, Yeojin would always be her sister.

_Flash._

Haseul curls into her mother’s arms, finally releasing a pent up wail.

~|~|~|~

She buries herself in her studies. Notes filled to the margins. Illegible worksheets with four different solutions scrunched under each section. Single-spaced essays three pages over the limit. They’re returned with a gentle reminder to keep to the guidelines in the syllabus because teachers have a lot to grade as is with their wire-framed bifocals. Haseul dives right into revisions. It keeps her distracted, fighting with concision once the double-spacing pushes her seven pages over.

The teachers are kind. They let her wear ear plugs outside of lectures. They excuse her from group work with alternate assignments. When the whispers still break through her bubble, she shows them a school-issued pass. For the rest of the period, she works in silence at the counselor’s office. They ask her to talk, but never force her because at least she’s supervised. Most of the time she remains numb. The few times her walls crack, someone pulls her into their arms. The smell of black coffee and musty file folders engulfs her, brings her back to the speckled carpet of the lounge.

Another week passes. She quietly settles into her seat at the back of her biology class. Her nose almost touches the black soapstone tabletop. It’s enough to avoid all the stares as students trickle in. Her ears twitch when the stool next to hers scrapes against the floor. The lights flicker off and the projector lights up.

“Um, hey.”

Haseul’s bench partner raps her knuckles on the table softly. She gives Haseul a warm smile, even if it looks a bit constipated. For a brief moment, Haseul relaxes.

“Haseul. Would you like to sit this one out?”

Haseul shakes her head at the teacher. He looks surprised, but slightly pleased. He pats her shoulder. Tells her to let him know if she needs anything, then walks around to eavesdrop on blossoming ideas.

“Jinsoul, right?” Haseul asks, turning to her partner.

“Yeah. So um, did any of the suggestions pique your interest?” Jinsoul bites her lip as if Haseul will lash out any second.

Haseul almost apologizes, then remembers this girl is usually meek. Her voice is only ever stable when she’s reciting a textbook passage or rattling off a solution in calculus from the seat in front of Haseul. They scan the project rubric on the screen.

“We could make a music video,” says Haseul.

Jinsoul’s eyebrows angle up. Her cheeks flush. “I don’t really know about music. And I really hate my voice on recordings. I’m sorry.”

Haseul shakes her head quickly. “Leave it to me. I’ll make an arrangement from a song we choose together. I’ll even perform it. Edit it—”

Jinsoul laughs. It’s so melodic. It wedges a light into Haseul’s mind. A tiny one, like a miniature bulb stolen from the physics classrooms, but it’s bright and warm. It feels new. Safe.

“I can’t let you do the whole thing yourself. That’s not fair.”

“Honestly, I kind of need it.”

Haseul stares at her notebook. She sees Jinsoul’s hand slide across the space between them. There’s enough time for her to refuse, to pull back, to cower into herself. Haseul doesn’t. She lets Jinsoul’s warm fingers curl around her shaking fist until it stills and her palm flattens on the page.

“How can I help?” Jinsoul whispers.

Haseul knows what she means. She chooses to speak around it instead. “I kind of suck at biology so you’re gonna have to take the lead with the lyrics.”

“You got it.”

Haseul swallows. Jinsoul understands. She gives Haseul space, but remains on standby. Haseul’s thankful, and a bit sorry that she didn’t put in the effort to get to know Jinsoul earlier.

Their taste in music differs widely. Haseul’s playlist is full of opera, classical, musical numbers, the occasional ballad. Surprisingly, bespectacled Jinsoul with a closet of sweater vests has any given combination of pop, punk, and rock. However, they both have “Video Killed the Radio Star.” It’s funky, catchy, nostalgic.

Haseul immediately pulls out blank sheet music. Graphite notes and blocky rests litter the page in minutes. Jinsoul’s half a page into a transcription of the endoplasmic reticulum. They speak the least out of all the groups for the next two in-class work days. That’s fine by them as they throw themselves into their share of the project.

Jinsoul’s mathletes meeting is canceled. Haseul invites her to an open practice room in the fine arts wing. Jinsoul pulls up a chair and starts a monologue. Haseul shapes the keywords into cheesy lyrics.

“You play the guitar?” Jinsoul asks in awe.

“Yeah. Just picked it up when I was a kid. I like the vibrations. There’s something about the buzz and scrape of the scored strings against your fingers,” Haseul shrugs. She shifts on the piano bench and lugs a school-loaned guitar onto her lap.

By the end of the session, they have a solid song. Jinsoul finds herself humming along. For the first time in a while, Haseul smiles. It’s small, placid, but real. This feels so normal. Spinning melodies until time slips away like fine sand. She rubs her fingers together and embraces the familiar warm burn of her callouses.

They record the next afternoon during study hall. The last bell rings so Jinsoul scurries off to her club meeting. Haseul takes the camcorder with her to work. It’s another slow day at the store. No better way to occupy her mind than by editing. First the audio goes in. Then she lines up clips of Jinsoul’s hand choreography using colorful paper cutouts. Haseul snickers at Jinsoul’s text the previous night about laminating them; Haseul said the glare would make filming difficult. The final product is artfully clunky. She checks for continuity one last time. Her lips quiver. Jinsoul’s cheery voice reminds her the cell organelles were designed by her sister Chaewon.

She opens a new email. Drags and drops the final cut for approval. When she gets home, she swallows hard and keeps her eyes to the left, away from the bedroom door that’s been shut for a few weeks. It’s exhausting. Her back hits the bed. The white ceiling seems to press down on her and she can’t push back.

Her eyes refocus when her phone pings with a notification.

**Jinsoul:** _This isn’t funny!_

Haseul stares at the chat, confused by the fuming red-faced emoji.

**Haseul:** _Huh? Something wrong with the video?_

**Jinsoul:** _Never mind. I’m just overreacting, no worries. I’ll edit it out and submit it. Thanks for all of your hard work! The song is great. I think it’ll really help us on the upcoming exam. By the way, you have a beautiful voice._

Haseul thinks she missed a joke somewhere. She doesn’t get to laugh about it. She doesn’t even get the chance to ask. Jinsoul doesn’t show up the next day, nor the three after that. Haseul’s stomach churns painfully as her texts remain unanswered and unread.

~|~|~|~

Haseul misses Jinsoul. She became a refreshing constant. Haseul finds herself grasping onto bits and pieces. Reminders that it indeed happened. Rereading texts to see where she went wrong. Focusing on Jinsoul’s hands making the cutouts squirm around in their video. She clings onto their graded rubric, a big fat A+ seeping through the back and a paragraph of praises at the bottom. Jinsoul should see it person, though Haseul did text her they did well.

Haseul drags her feet from the third floor to the front of the school. She doesn’t have work but staying at home alone hurts too much. She winces, recalling how she fainted from unintentionally holding her breath. She exits the stairwell and turns into the language hallway.

“Jo Haseul?”

“Y-yes?” Haseul eyes the stranger suspiciously. Then her expression softens.

The girl looks young. Haseul had seen her at the school’s pep rallies hyping up her teammates, for she was on several athletic teams. She’s notoriously fierce. A natural leader. But this person standing in front of Haseul looks more like a shell. Greying flesh sinks in under her eyes. Her cheeks are sallow. She keeps swallowing like she hasn’t had water for days. She breathes through her mouth instead of her nose. Quick and shallow inhales like she’s struggling to stay in one piece.

With one glance, they see their reflection in each other. A horrible, withered reflection.

Haseul feels herself crumbling. But she holds on long enough to place a comforting hand on the girl’s arm and direct her to a nearby classroom. “Talk to me.”

“Um. I… I just— H-how—”

“Breathe,” Haseul instructs. “What’s your name?”

“Jungeun.” There’s no strength. No sound. Only air.

“What’s wrong, Jungeun?” Haseul asks carefully. _Why are you looking for me?_

“How do— How do you cope with her being gone?” It comes out in a slur. Haseul supposes it’s because Jungeun’s bout of tearful hiccups would’ve rendered her unintelligible.

Haseul’s throat constricts. She closes her eyes, commands her muscles to relax, to let air in. If she faints here, nobody will keep Jungeun from unraveling. Though they’ve just met, Jungeun’s gut-wrenching question makes Haseul want to protect her.

“I’m so sorry,” is all Haseul can say. Her teeth chatter and the words sound like a continuous hiss.

She takes Jungeun’s trembling form into her small arms. Jungeun’s hands latch onto Haseul’s baggy sweater. Her head thumps onto Haseul’s shoulder, hot tears streaming down her cheeks onto the fabric. Minutes tick by at a torturous pace.

“Do you think it’s the same person?” Jungeun’s voice cracks. They both flinch, but don’t let go.

“I don’t know.” Haseul can’t bear to theorize.

“Three kidnappings in a month. They’re sick. Absolutely sick,” Jungeun seethes.

Haseul pulls back abruptly. “Three?”

Jungeun wipes her nose. Her eyebrows furrow like Haseul’s gone mad. “You didn’t know?”

“I… I’ve shut out all media. I barely use the internet. I just. I can’t. I can’t stand to see the headlines. Rehashing my nightmare for clicks.” Haseul’s surprised she has so many words. Her throat throbs as if she had eaten as many rocks as syllables she spoke. “_Praying_. I know they mean well. Strangers. Friends and distant family. They keep us in their prayers. But it…”

“It sounds like the end,” Jungeun says, her tone suddenly steely. “I’m just so creeped out. So paranoid. What if they come back and we can’t catch them? They got into her _room_.”

“What— How do you know?”

Haseul watches Jungeun jump out of her arms, the desks nearby clashing into each other. It’s like Jungeun doesn’t hear them, doesn’t feel anything. She turns on the projector, logs into the computer at the front. Haseul squints from the glare off an unlabeled DVD Jungeun pulls out of her bag. Haseul doesn’t know why, but she curls into her seat as if to protect herself.

“They touched her stuff. Left this,” says Jungeun warily as the computer loads. She sniffs loudly. “Yerim loves Harry Potter. She has a whole collection. Keeps it pristine. The fourth movie was on the floor. Case cracked open. She’d never let that happen. This was wedged between the two discs. This— This _twisted_ calling card.”

Jungeun roughly wipes the fresh tears from her cheeks, leaving the skin blotchy and red. Haseul watches intently. She rises from her seat on wobbly legs, then sprints for the trash can and throws up.

No audio. Sepia filter over a swing set in a grassy field. The left-most seat drifts back and forth. The second seat follows. Then the third like a mesmerizing wave. The fourth seat on the right remains uncannily still.

Haseul leaps up in shock when the door bursts open. Jungeun trips over the tangle of wires on the floor, shutting down the PC. The screen flashes blue with an error message about a disconnected input source.

“You think this is some kind of joke?!” Jinsoul shrieks, pointing at the screen. “Is this how you’ve been coping? Messing with other people? What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Haseul flounders for words. Jinsoul’s accusations aren’t processing, as if she spoke another language. Haseul leans against the wall, doubles over and pukes again. Acid burns her throat, her sinuses flare up, but she sees Jinsoul take a step back. All of Jinsoul’s anger dissipates. She has those same pitying eyes from the day they started their project in class.

Jungeun speaks up from a safe five rows of desks away. “You make it sound like Haseul gave me that video.” Her face scrunches in disbelief bordering on disgust.

Haseul is grateful. She tries to defend herself. She couldn’t possibly have comforted Jungeun after suffering the same loss. Couldn’t handle the thought of someone else losing the one person most precious to them. She couldn’t be in this state and dare to spread that cursed video around.

Except it’s not the same video. Not the same format. Not the same number of—

She lurches over the trash again, dry heaving as her abs spasm inward. Jungeun’s at her side in a second, patting her back until her breathing evens out.

Jinsoul shakes her head. “I don’t want to believe it. I thought Haseul was kind. A victim but—”

“She is. We all are,” Jungeun cuts across. “Look, we— None of us are in our right minds. But that doesn’t mean you get to blame her. She dealt with this the longest.”

Haseul clutches the edge of the garbage and manages to lift her head. “She’s one of the three? Chae…“ She’s never met the girl, yet she can’t say her name out loud. It makes it real.

“Overnight.” Jinsoul sounds close to throwing up herself. “I-I don’t know how. We had dinner. She went to her room. I went to mine. I usually wake her up in the morning. Make sure she packs her homework, eats breakfast, catches her bus. She wasn’t there. It was like she never went to sleep. Never touched her bed.” Jinsoul clamps a hand over her mouth, then drags it down forcefully like she’s wiping filth off of her face. “It happened after that clip! The one in our project video! God.”

This time Haseul musters up enough strength to rush forward and catch Jinsoul before she hits the ground. Jungeun supports her on the other side. They lift Jinsoul into a chair with great difficulty. Haseul kneels in front of Jinsoul, a shaking hand reaching for Jinsoul’s bony wrist. She takes in a shuddering breath.

“What clip?”

Jinsoul has to close her eyes to spit out the words. “In the middle. The video went blank. Your voice cut off. I thought it glitched, but the timer kept rolling. Then there were swings.” Jinsoul’s voice tapers off into a higher octave. Jungeun swears loudly. “Two of them were moving. Two were frozen. And then you started singing again. I thought it was a prank. I just cut it out.”

Haseul sinks onto the floor, head in Jinsoul’s lap. She feels Jinsoul collapse on top of her. Jungeun’s back slumps against her, so she untangles an arm and holds Jungeun tight to her chest. She pulls her closer, ignoring the nails digging into her forearm as Jungeun raises her other fist and punches the underside of the desk. She does it again. And again. And again. Then Jinsoul reaches out and caresses the red raw knuckles.

“Oh God, the hell are you all doing in here?”

Three pairs of bloodshot eyes flicker to the door. A tall lithe girl with straight black hair and searing eyes glowers back at them. Despite her foggy mind, Haseul recognizes the student. It’d be surprising if anyone didn’t. Sooyoung was always a hot topic. Helped the school’s dance team win nationals the year she transferred, secured a co-captain position the next.

“Look. Whatever sob story you’ve got going on, can we pretend we don’t see each other?” She actually looks apologetic. Nobody responds. Sooyoung sighs. “I just— Not that I have to tell you, but there’s a lot to handle this time of year. I need a _break_ before practice and this room is the closest with the most windows and a fan, and no security camera.”

Sooyoung doesn’t wait for approval. She strides over to the counter and hops onto it. A chill autumn draft blows through all five of the windows. She wedges herself into the corner next to the whirling square fan. It takes a few flicks before the sparks catch. The white end of a cigarette dips into the dancing flame. The fan shunts the smoke out.

Her phone buzzes. She taps the screen in annoyance, then glares at the trio.

“Alright. Which one of you fuckers thinks this is funny?”

“The fuck are you on about? What about us makes you think we’re having a good time?” Jungeun growls back.

Haseul wants to laugh. Let loose a hysteric, mind-numbing cackle. But the muscles around her organs are strained enough. Ever since she emptied her stomach, she hasn’t stopped shivering. Jinsoul is cold to the touch.

Sooyoung rubs her temple, the cigarette balanced between two dainty fingers. “Who AirDropped me this gif?”

“I never turn on my bluetooth,” mumbles Jungeun, rolling her eyes.

“My phone’s out of battery,” rasps Jinsoul.

“I have an Android,” says Haseul.

She watches Sooyoung eye each of them before staring at her phone. Her neck tenses. She clenches her jaw so hard, the muscle by her ear pops out. Haseul thinks she might crack a molar.

“Is it…” Jungeun brushes her hair back like she’s going to regret asking. “Is it a swing set?”

“Shit!” A few ashes singe Sooyoung’s jeans. She grabs a stray water bottle on the counter, shoves her cigarette inside and shakes it up. The stick sinks to the bottom.

“Four? Are all four moving?” Jinsoul looks at her in horror.

Sooyoung nods once.

“Do you have a sibling?” Haseul’s voice is steady, low. She looks past Sooyoung. Far, far away into the recesses of her own mind.

Sooyoung inhales, compelled to respond truthfully. “A sister. Hyejoo. She’s… She’s the best thing in my life. Annoying as fuck. I’d do anything for her.”

“Hyejoo,” Haseul says fondly. She offers a watery smile and bites her lip, gathering enough strength to say one thing. “Forget practice. You should go home.”

The door clicks shut.

When Haseul pulls up in the driveway, she clambers out of the car with the key still in the ignition, exhaust pipe sputtering like a chimney stack. The front door’s wide open. She runs up the stairs.

“Yeojin?” she screams. “Mom! Dad?!”

She finds them sitting on the floor of her room. On the round fluffy carpet she and Yeojin used to lay on to stargaze. The glow-in-the-dark celestial bodies have long been torn down from the ceiling. Haseul steps in further, her balance wavering, and she reaches out.

“Yeojin…”

She spins the small girl around. Yeojin’s long gone.

Haseul realizes she’s standing in a puddle. It soaks the carpet, her parents’ clothes, the bed and desk and dresser. The stench stings her lungs. A match drops. The camera rolls.

~|~|~|~

“_Pursuing further investigations seems to have sped up the suspect’s timeline. Their M.O. suggests targeting the youngest member of families first. The recent disappearances have unfortunately led to four tragic home accidents involving all members of the fam—_”

Jiwoo frowns deeply and switches the input for the TV. The news makes her sad and it isn’t a sad day. No day with Heejin is allowed to be sad. Her adorable half-sister, a blessing by the caring woman who showed her dad he could find happiness once again. Heejin, the brightest soul she’s ever met. The one who sneaks into her bed for cuddles on cold nights and asks her to watch _Naruto_ together so she has someone to spazz with. She’s grown up so fast, but hasn’t grown out of those habits.

The screen flickers to Netflix. Jiwoo fiddles with the menu, finally searching up the correct season. A medley of clips plays in the background. It renders the series description on the left unreadable.

“Heejin!” Jiwoo barks over her shoulder at the stairs. “You’re the one who wanted to watch this! Get your tush down here!”

Jiwoo pads into the kitchen. Rummaging around in the cabinet, she discovers an open box of microwave popcorn. She throws a package onto the rotating platform and punches a random button.

“Whoa,” Jiwoo hoots lowly.

She leans against the doorframe, idling flattening the empty box. The preview shows autumn leaves drifting down onto a plain swing set on a dried lawn. One seat creaks forward, swoops back, then forward again. Rhythmically like a pendulum.

“AH! God!”

Jiwoo clutches her chest and runs to the microwave. She yanks open the door. Something sparks briefly. She hastily fans away the smoke. The corners of the popcorn bag are slightly burnt but food is food. The kitchen fills with the aroma of butter as the fluffy kernels empty out. Jiwoo hugs the bowl to her chest and walks to the living room where the _Naruto_ ad plays on a loop.

She shivers. Something’s _off_. There’s a crash from upstairs. The bowl bounces lightly on the carpet, popcorn spilling under the coffee table and couch. Feet thunder up the wooden stairs two at a time and down the hall. Jiwoo slams her shoulder into the door. She flies right into the empty bedroom.

“Heejin?”

Bathroom. Empty.

“Heejin?”

Her bedroom. Empty. Master bedroom. Empty. Living room, kitchen, dining room. Empty. Basement, barren. Laundry room, untouched.

“HEEJIN!”

Jiwoo barrels out the door and down the street. She spins on her heels, yelling at the top of her lungs. Panic bubbles up her throat like putrid muck.

“HEEJIN! HEEJIN, ANSWER ME! WHERE ARE YOU?” She cries. She inhales again, straightens her back. “HEE—”

“—JIN!”

Jiwoo crashes into another body at the intersection. She scrambles to her feet though her head throbs painfully.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t look where I was going. I was trying to find my sister, Heejin,” Jiwoo rambles.

The other girl freezes, paying her scraped elbow no mind. “You too?”

“T-too?” Jiwoo whimpers.

“Um.” The girl pants hard, the physical exertion of her sprints finally catching up. “I— My name’s Vivi. My stepsister’s missing too. Her name’s Hyunjin. Have you seen her? Please. _Please_.”


End file.
